Alma record. (Alma, Mich.) 1878-1928, 1887-09-30
Captain lie Mars Story.

for cemetery.
1t was a soldiers funeral A guard
walked beside the hower-strewn bier
Two in two. with bent heads. the
soldiers followed it. The mullled
drums beat heavily. ashes to ashes,
dust to dust" they seemed TO say.
Women looked from their windows
as the sad procession mar hed on.
''He is gone at last. this poor Cap.
tain lie Mari" said one.
And happy release for hm" sigh
ell another.
'Never did brave soldier live with
so many wounds, such dreadful multi
atoms. Yet he was handsome still-a
beautiful face; saw it in the coffin"
said another.
Then they crossed themselves and
went back to work.
One only Of those soldiers returned
TO the house in which their dead COM
rade had dwelt, after the ceremonies
were over the colonel of the regiment
To him, in his dying hours, poor Le
Mar had given little note, in which
he had read these words:
My Old Friend, When / am gone,
/ desire you to take from my desk
small packet Of manuscript which you
will find there. 1t is the story of my
life. Even to you have been reticent
but now desire you to know all. You
may think me mailman when youi
have read the story; and, indeed. no
one can know whether he is mad or
not but you know me too we'll to
suspect me Of falsehood. The truth Of
what ! have written is as absolute to
me as that of my own existence.
Read it and do what you will with 1t.
Yours ever, LIZ MAR.
II was TO obtain this legacy that the
colonel retrsced his steps TO the home
Of his dead comrade that day. AS lie
Mar had said. he knew nothing of his
life save that they had fought together,
yet he had always felt that some mys-
terry surrounded him, that there were
sorrows in the past too great TO be
spoken Of
sf his own room, Colonel Mestayer I'M
rolled the paper. covered by the words
his friend had written, and read the
following story:
Dear Mestayer. Before l become a
soldier l lived with nv father in cha
teau near Paris l was his youngest
son, and in his way he Was fond Of me;
his kindness, however, depended al
together on my implic t obedience.
Like most young men | had fallen in
love. The object of my affection was
not lady Of my own rank in life; she
was a poor little shop girl named
Airline.
l have always thought her the sweet
est thing on earth; certainly her black
eyes and her long. glittering. waving
black hair were charms any woman
might have enyied. never mentioned
Airline at home, OF course. that you
quite understand. Her grandfather was
little old man who carved wooden
brackets for living, and they lived on a
fourth floor in very poor neighbor-
hood.
When l WAS five and twenty years Of
age my father said TO me:
"Adolph. it is time for you to marry.
have selected a wife for you. 1t is
young Madcmoiselle Moran"
But l have no wish to marry"
said.
Il desire it, said my father. mile,
Moran's beauty, position and wealth
render most eligible wife for you.
Her father approves of you; he VIII
give you fine portion, and, # you
marry according to my wishes, | will
settle suitable sum upon you and
give you the pretty chateau at St
Sauveur, which you have always ad-
mired. can afford to be generous to
an obed ent son, but, il 1 am offended
with YOU. what have youP"
Not a sous.
"Ab. well" said he. 81 see you I'M
derstand the situation
He walked away from me well salts
fed. | remained where he had left
me. asked myself what / should do.
/ could not tell him that loved some
one else. Love had moth ny to do with
his plans. | could not tell him that an
Othe loved me. What would he care
for little shop girl without a penny
in her purse? With his consent
should never marry her, even were
there no Mile. Moran on earth. / might
res st his authority and marry Airline.
After that, perhaps ] might teach mus &c
for livelihood. / knew something Of
the art And then, if we two could
live in a garrett, we might be happy.
Could we? Could I? thought of my
own elegant home; of the style in
which had always lived; Of the luxu-